


rebels and imperials and the inbetween

by forestpenguin



Series: to fight or take flight (away beyond the sky) [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Imperials, Mentioned Darth Vader, Pre-Canon, Pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestpenguin/pseuds/forestpenguin
Summary: Three interactions Bodhi will never forget, not until Bor Gullet yanks them away from him.





	1. Home

They enter his memory with a series of loud bangs.

Bodhi’s head snaps ups, feeling the door shake through the vibration under his bare feet.

“Go,” his mother says, looking sharply at his sister. “Nivi, take him.”

Bodhi rises, knowing what to do, but Nivi takes his hand and pulls him into his room regardless. She locks the door in one fluid motion, then joins Bodhi in the small alcove between his bed and the wall.

He holds his breath, willing his rapidly-beating heart to slow, to stay silent.

Instead, he feels it roar in his ears. Nivi shoots him a glance, as if she could hear it as well.

Outside, Bodhi hears their front door creaks open. 

“What do you want?” his mother says coolly.

He can see her in his mind’s eye, chin raised and back perfectly straight as her dismissive gaze flickers over their visitors. She’s most likely angled herself in the doorway to cut off the line of sight to Bodhi’s bedroom door – literally putting herself between _them_ and her children.

 _They_ must not be Imperials, for she’s elected to use the least formal version of _you._

 She doesn’t call for them either –

 so _they_ must be rebels.

 Bodhi relaxes, but only a little. 

 “We need a place to stay, madam. Just for a few minutes.” The voice is gruff but the language is their own mother tongue. Nivi visibly perks up, and leans towards the door.

 “I’m not obligated to let you in.”

Their mother is calm but her voice is sheathed in the same steel Bodhi hears her use in the marketplace, or whenever Nivi comes home with too many scratches on her boots.

Bodhi leans closer and Nivi swats him away, just as he hears a slight click –

The rustle of metal on fabric, then metal on metal.

He tenses.

“You’re Rook’s wife, aren’t you?” another voice says, and there is a murmur of appreciation amongst the others. “Then you should be welcoming us in with open arms.” 

“Be thankful I’m talking with you instead of the Imperials.”

“You-you wouldn’t do that. Your husband is a martyr.”

The new voice stumbles over the last word. Their language is foreign to him.

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t let you in,” his mother says, and Bodhi can feel a shift in the air. Like an icy breeze on a humid day, her voice cuts through the rebels. “I already lost my husband to your delusions, and have spent every year since staying in _their_ good graces.”

Nivi’s mouth quirks into a frown.

“Not all of us can run off waving blasters like you rogues. Some of us have mouths to feed.”

Bodhi inhales sharply and Nivi shoots another look at him.

“As if we don’t? Madam, we aren’t offworlders. We asked your permission before entering. But if you don’t cooperate, then-“

He doesn’t need to see the blaster. A whimper escapes his throat.

“Fine. You stay _exactly_ where I leave you. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The owner of the voice sounds like a reprimanded child, and Bodhi stifles a giggle. Nivi shushes him. 

“ _Come_ ,” she says in their tongue, and he can count at least three pairs of boots on the floor, and frowns at the prospect of having to mop up their muddy tracks.

There’s the sound of heavy fabric snagging on wood panels, and then the scraping of a rarely used door. Boots thud down creaky stairs, and the door falls shut.

Five minutes later, Bodhi’s body aches from hiding and is about to ask Nivi if they can get up when there is another rap at the door.

It’s as if he was sent back in time ten minutes, but this time their mother sounds more submissive, bending meekly to the questioner’s will, and tacking on respectful addresses to the end of every sentence.

 _\- No sir, I saw no rebels._  
_\- Yes sir, I know why you suspect me._  
_\- No sir, I never agreed with his beliefs._

 “Are you scared?” Nivi asks, the words barely discernible from her breathing.

Bodhi shakes his head, despite the pounding in his chest, and forces a tight lipped smile. “Not when you’re with me.” 

It feels like an eternity before Bodhi hears the _thank you_ and the bang of the door slamming shut.

He doesn’t see the tremble in his mother’s shoulders, or the way her hand shakes as she opens the trapdoor. So he heaves a sigh of relief as he hears the sound of boots trudging up the steps.  

It takes another minute-long eternity before the rebels leave: one asks, very respectfully, for a glass of water. He can hear her pour out the glass steadily, and not say a single word as she hands it to them.

The glass is set back on the table a few moments later, and then the front door slams shut once again.

Bodhi stands to leave but his sister yanks him by his shirt back into a crouch.

They sit there, breaths punctuating the silence, until his mother calls:

“Nivi?”

She relaxes, eyes fluttering shut before yanking the door open, and tugs Bodhi along with her.

“Did we do it right, ammi?”

Their mother purses her lips, and faintly nods.


	2. School

The sound of his footsteps rings hollowly against the walls of the corridor.

Bodhi swallows, hard, attempting to keep his thundering heart from leaping out his mouth. His palms are clammy and he wipes them against the front of his regulation flight suit.

This isn't his fault.

Not like his superiors ever cared whose fault it  _actually_  was.

All they needed was a scapegoat.

Someone to make an example of.

Someone to bear the burden of blame.

And Bodhi, filled to the brim with nervous energy, a loose tongue, and ever twiddling-hands, seemed to be the one worthiest of the honor.  _Thanks to his poorly written fate._

He hears the phrase in his mother's voice as he turns out of the secluded corridor out into the main area of the Academy. 

It's all his fault.

The student pilot of the ship, who'd lost his cargo to insurgents.

Or pirates.

Perhaps a smuggler. 

He didn't know nor cared. Neither did his higher ups. But eventually, as the ladder rose, someone on a rung far out of sight did.

Now Bodhi finds himself responding to a call to his superior's office. 

He clenches his fists, trying to stifle the shaking.

 _It's not my fault. It’s not my fault_. He'd correctly delivered the cargo. There was proof, wasn’t there? The incident had happened  _afterwards_.

Unfortunately for him, whoever took the cargo, didn’t leave anyone behind to blame. 

So here he is.

Bodhi weaves his way through the crowd now, a menagerie of uniformed officers waiting at attention, a crowd of curious student onlookers, and various pilots hurriedly threading through to complete their assignments on time. 

There's a palpable buzz in the air. Initially he dismisses it as his own nerves, but as he narrows his focus the buzz becomes distinct voices.

-  _He’s come to visit._

 _\- Apparently it's to check in on us. They're ...._ _not happy with how… slow things have been running around here._

 _\- They act like he’s a morale booster_.

There's a forced chuckle, a sardonic huff of a laugh, and Bodhi stops in his tracks.

-  _No reward like being choked to death._

_\- I wonder who he’s going to take it out on?_

Bodhi had mistakenly believed his stomach couldn't sink any lower, but now he feels as though he's trampling on it with his own feet. 

_Lord Vader._

There isn’t hardly an Imperial who hasn’t heard the name, and there isn't a being in the galaxy who hasn't heard of his reputation. An evil Force user, a killing machine, the Emperor’s puppet… whatever names they call him, the fear that follows the creature shrouded in darkness is always the same. 

At first he'd been merely a ghost story, something to spook the freshest of recruits. Soon enough, though, Bodhi realized the creature was indeed very, very real.

The personification of Bodhi's worst nightmare.

And he is here, now. 

* * *

Bodhi's first glimpse of the monster is over a sea of shoulders. He towers above most, if not all, the beings in the room - being taller than the average human, and the Empire being mostly human, it isn't a difficult feat. 

Vader looks nothing like a leaving creature: made entirely of sharp angles and metallic darkness, the cape swirling around his ankles only adds to the air of fear and mystery around him. His mere presence seems to suck the oxygen out of the room. 

Every word Bodhi planned to say catches in his throat, building up a barrier until he couldn't breathe.  _Was he choking?Washechoking?Was-_

“Rook.” 

More machine than man. The voice is unnaturally low, sheathed in harsh, metallic tones. His name punctures the garish silence between hisses of breaths.

The scream is lodged in his throat along with everything else.

" _Rook."_

Bodhi blinks, and turns. 

It's not Vader. It's his commanding officer. 

“Yes, sir.” Bodhi replies smoothly. His heart still rattles in his ribcage, but his carefully thought out defense springs back to his mind, and waits on the tip of his tongue. 

He gets a grim nod in response. “You’re off the hook, boy. They managed to find some poor soul who was… involved in the… incident.”

Bodhi doesn't put in the effort to hide his sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sir.” 

“I had nothing to do with it,” he replies gruffly. “But you should be thanking  _something."_

The man shoots a wary glance in Vader’s direction, as the latter creature strides in front of a line of officers. “I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodhi nods stiffly, turns on his heel, and walks away as fast as he can. He gasps for air despite himself, and once he's out of sight, half-runs to put as much distance as possible between himself and  _him._

* * *

 

Bodhi hears about the victims later.

Choked to death.

Efficiency increased to 105%.

He hadn't known any of them personally, but Bodhi grieves anyways.

He was almost one of them.

 

* * *

In his nightmares, it’s Vader that says his name. 


	3. Work

Rain splashes incessantly against the roof of the facility, and even this far down Bodhi can still feel the drumbeat in his ears. 

He shivers, more than just from the rain.

The dampness of Eadu clings to his flightsuit, the poncho he'd thrown over it absolutely worthless against the sheer willpower of the planet's thunderstorms.

He strides down the hallway, dampness and hunger clinging to the fringes of his mind and setting off a bad mood.

Bodhi tugs at his goggles, still spotted with drops of rain, and pulls them up off his eyes. He could've taken them off entirely, but there is something soothing about their constant presence on his forehead. He always feels comfortable behind the pilot’s seat. The goggles are a reminder of the cockpit- something he can carry with him at all times.

He passes the same dimly lit corridor again, but this time shrouded in darkness - the light fixture hanging above had finally coughed up its last bit of light. 

It's his second trip to Eadu. He should have known the layout of the Imperial installation here by now, or at least the pathway to his final destination, but his natural sense of direction was restricted to the air. On the ground he is untethered, with no star charts to guide him. 

His stomach grumbles, reminding him of his current mission. 

 _Where is the cafeteria in this place?_  Dread crept up his spine.  _What if he walked into a restricted zone? What if he interrupted a high-level meeting? What if he-_

Oh.

The sign appears in the corner of his vision.

 _Mess hall._  

Bodhi blows out a slow sigh of relief, and heads inside. 

He immediately bites back a groan. Apparently he'd spent too long wandering the halls, and now it was peak lunchtime.

He sighs and steps into line behind a man with graying hair, and his eyes flicker down to the man's uniform.

A high ranking scientist, by the looks of it.

Bodhi licks his lips. Surely it wouldn't hurt to start up a conversation, the man was probably as bored as he is. Bodhi notes the absence of a datapad in the man's hands, and is encouraged further.

"Um, hello?" 

The man turns, and Bodhi gets a glimpse of the name tag.

Galen Erso. 

Erso purses his lips.

"I, uh, hi. I'm-I'm kind of new here. I guess - this is a popular time for lunch?"

Erso continues to stare at him, and for a long, terrible, minute, Bodhi thinks he's crossed a line.

But then the man gives him a small smile. 

"It is. I hope you didn't get lost on your way here. It's tough for a newbie, and still tough for myself when I'm carried away with the details of my latest project, especially these days since there's been so many issues with the heat-" Erso’s voice trails off as he notices Bodhi’s lost expression. “Never mind. What’s your name, boy?” 

“Bodhi. Bodhi Rook, sir. I’m a cargo pilot, I came here to drop off some shipments." 

"Are you Jedhan, perchance?" 

Bodhi's eyes widen. "H-how-"

Erso narrows his eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We were due a ship from Jedha, I needed it for my... research. And you speak like they do. The cadence, I mean." 

Bodhi rearranges his expression away from shock and into something resembling a smile. "Cool - and, uh, yes. I'm Jedhan. Haven't actually properly been back in a while, though." 

Erso nods, slowly, then takes a tray from the stack. He hands one to Bodhi and then takes one for himself. 

"So you miss your family, then?"

Bodhi nods, then realizes the other man had turned away. "Yeah." 

He drums his fingers alongside the edge of the tray, trying to suppress memories of home, and decides to change the subject. “So, uhm… Mr. Erso, are you like a head scientist here on Eadu?”

Erso turns around to look at him. “I am. I’m in charge of the main project the Empire is working on at this station.” He moves to turn back, then adds: "You can call me Galen."

"Alright, uh, Galen. Do you like working here?”

Galen raises an eyebrow and Bodhi realizes the abruptness of his statement.

“I mean, like, do you enjoy the work?” Realizing this wasn’t any better statement, Bodhi goes into damage control. “Like…. I love flying. I actually really wanted to be a TIE fighter, but my marks weren’t high enough so I became a cargo pilot. It’s still fun though. I hear people complaining about stress at work all the time, but for me, I think my work de-stresses me, you know? I understand ships better than people. Ship problems you can sort out with logic or a spanner. People, not so much.”

Bodhi looks at Galen, hoping he understood. 

“I understand  _science_  better than people. Unraveling a scientific mystery is much easier than unraveling the inner workings of another being’s mind. And I’ve been working on some mysteries for  _years_.” 

Bodhi’s eyes light up. “So you must be doing what you really love, yeah?”

Galen turns away, this time to hold his tray out to the serving droid. 

“I mean, I love flying," Bodhi continues after Galen's extended silence. "Being a cargo pilot might not be the best way to fly, or the best way to do what I love, but I’ll take it. I mean, a good job with the Empire is pretty secure, as long as you don’t screw up, right?”

He readjusts his grip on his tray as the next serving droid miscalculates the trajectory of whatever bland food item its been serving.

Galen smiles, but his eyes remain dark. “Yeah. Screwing up while working for the Empire can cost you your life.”

Bodhi frowns, and Galen adds: “but if you deal with it in the right way, it won’t.” 

“Dealing with people is a talent I don’t, uh, really have.” 

Galen gives Bodhi a knowing smile. “I wasn’t born with it either. For people like us, confidence in something other than our work - it’s something we need to learn.” He pauses to pick up a mug and fill it with caf. 

Bodhi watches as Galen flicks the switch and punches in his settings. “Sometimes my lack of confidence in myself makes me seem less confident in my work.” He hadn't felt the truth of his words were until they left his own mouth. 

Talking to Galen - a man he had known for all of 15 minutes - has offered him so much clarity.

Galen picks up a second mug, his own tray now resting on the table, and begins to fill it. He looks so absorbed in the stream of caf coming from the machine Bodhi begins to wonder if the man was redesigning a more effective device in his head - and had completely ignored Bodhi.

Not like he was obligated to care for a lowly pilot. 

“Maybe I can help you. Teach you some of my tricks,” Galen says, offering the second mug to Bodhi, handle facing him. “What do you think?” 

Bodhi looks at Galen in disbelief, then at the mug in his outstretched hand, then back to Galen's waiting face.

What was the worst that could happen?

“I think…. I think I’ll take you up on your offer,” Bodhi replies, grinning, and takes the mug by the handle. 

Galen smiles.


End file.
